Hello! Happy New Year and Happy February – how did it get to be February? Wasn’t it just Christmas or do I just think that because there are a couple of Santas still hanging around in my living room? Hmmmm, perhaps I should get them back up in the attic.
I’m sorry I’ve been away – some of you have written and checked up on me – thanks! I’m okay just a little all over the place at the moment.
I’m back in college, getting my degree in graphic design. I know, last time I was here I was a Life Coach – I still am, it’s just that I’ve gotten lots of requests for business cards, stationery and other design media from other Coaches so I sort of fell into the ink well and figured I should add on to my natural talents with the technical stuff. I like school – a lot!!! It gets me out of the house and I’m good at graphic design so that’s always a good ego booster.
I’m changing the Bipolar Chick website – it had started getting old and my first attempt at changing it was a little too “fluffy & sweet” all flowers and pinks and purples. I’m sweet and soft but I can also be strong, stubborn, single-minded and a little sour and I think the site should reflect that more.
So I’ve been wandering in the woods of “no motivation” but I can see the exit from here and I’m thankful that there is no snow out there – just a little rain.
I hope that my readers will return and that my new and hopefully improved musings, resources and information will bring a giggle, smile, heady conversation and strong debate.
There’s a lot going on in the states and a lot of it has been blamed on “crazy, mentally ill folks”, we need to talk about these things – we need to change these things.
I hope you’ll hang out and share your thoughts!
Peace and Power are ours for the taking – let’s grab some!
19th Century French Poet Charles Baudelaire once said,
“There are moments of existence when time and space are more profound, and the awareness of existence is immensely heightened.”
11 years ago, the universe and bipolar disorder converged in such a way that awareness of my illness was unavoidable. The rapid cycle of depression, mania and depression again took place very publicly at work. It’s hard to dismiss hiding under my desk and banging my head against the wall as just another typical bad day. I worked in the accounting department of a large company in Alexandria, Virginia. I managed the corporate credit cards of 4 offices – that’s a lot of people trusting me to pay their expense reports. Ultimately this meant that almost everyone witnessed my meltdown.
But here’s the thing – once I was diagnosed it never occurred to me to keep the information private. People asked and I answered, truthfully. It seems being surrounded by the creative energy of authors, artists and musicians was to my benefit – they simply saw bipolar disorder as par for the creative course. Where I had once been known at work as Research Girl, I was forever researching their purchases – I had become known affectionately as Bipolar Chick.
The awareness and acceptance of my friends and co-workers made my recovery an easier task because I didn’t go through it alone. I spoke openly and frequently about my illness – with anyone who would listen, especially my young daughters.
My family’s openness and many questions expanded not only their awareness of mental illness but also my own. I quickly became an expert in my triggers, my needs and my maintained recovery.
When my then 12 year-old daughter became depressed and began cutting after being treated for cancer, her knowledge of the hereditary nature of mental illness gave her the courage to ask for help. Managing my illness provided my husband and me the skills to assist her doctor’s in her recovery. It also equipped us with the awareness of when I needed to step away for self preservation.
There is no doubt that my mental illness affected our children.
In 2009 our middle daughter, Jackie, graduated with a bachelor’s in Psychology – apparently I had proven an interesting case study. Now 23 she volunteers with NAMI in her home state of NJ.
I’m proud to say that Kate, our brave cancer survivor is now 20 and healthy both physically and mentally. She’s a junior in college pursuing a degree in culinary arts. She specializes in baking and pastries.
Over the years I’ve helped many friends seek the mental health assistance that they needed, some were diagnosed with a mental illness – some had situational issues to manage but all were comfortable coming to me for my thoughts and information.
In 2009, I have left the corporate world of finance and became a certified life and wellness coach. I work with many people, some who suffer with mental illness some who do not. I share my experiences and the tools that I have learned in an effort to help them find their own path towards awareness and recovery.
Helen Keller once said, “Walking in the dark with a friend, is better than walking alone in the light.”
As for my nickname, Bipolar Chick has evolved into my way of owning my illness. It makes me feel strong and not a victim of heredity or circumstance. It has become no different than calling myself a red head or a writer or an advocate. I wear the name proudly.
In closing, I’d like to share a poem written by my daughter Kate when she was 13.
Dear Mom:
In all these short years I’ve lived – We’ve gone through many things
Things we many not speak of – Things we did enjoy
Days when we both thought we’d break – Bright memories that we share
All those time I cried – You were always there
No one can replace you – No one can come close
All the help you’ve given me – I treasure you the most.
What’s not to like about me? Seriously! I’m nice and caring. I enjoy helping people. I love animals – how can there be something bad about a dog lover? I’m at a loss and my hair is on fire over it. Over what you ask? A person in a group I belong to does not like me.
This person is a pretty big and important (must remember to genuflect when I see ‘em – hmph) part of the group. We’ve only met once. Yet, they have put out the word that I do not “present” myself well. Really? That’s some impression I managed to make by saying hello, stating my name and answering one question. After that question I was never called on again for input. We spoke briefly either at lunch or at the end – I don’t really remember – and I don’t remember much of anything being spoken about.
I do wonder if my alter ego of Bipolar Chick got under this person’s skin – they are a very “Person First language only” kind of person. Honestly, I don’t have any issue with the whole “person first” idea – If you don’t know what that means, it is a consumer saying “I have bipolar disorder” – basically, I’m a person not my illness - Okay, that works for some and my way works for others, I actually use both – am I being too sensitive? I know everyone doesn’t have to like everyone else but this person is rude and dismissive towards me and I don’t like it.
I do have to say that I thought the meeting where we met was useless – a bunch of people complaining and stating what they would like changed with virtually no idea or plan on how to change anything. Everyone spoke over each other and since it was my first – and last – meeting I had no idea what was going on so I listened and attempted to decipher. They discussed a lot of issues that I have not ever had to deal with – extended hospitalization – I’ve only been to a psych hospital once and refused to let them keep me; insurance issues – I’ve got military insurance thanks to my husband and I’ve never had a problem with it regarding my mental health; I’ve never been arrested, never beaten anyone up or brandished a weapon – something many have done. Maybe I’m not mentally ill enough.
Groups like this talk about being inclusive and welcoming – as long as you fit into their mold, – you know the whole “misery loves company” crap.
Well, I spend enough time with myself feeling miserable – why the hell would I want to hang out with a group that simply perpetuates the feeling? Why is it some groups feel the need to only piss and moan? Frequently, I find that these groups meet in hiding and only show their support when they are with others just like them. I do understand that not everyone can be as free wheeling with their issues as I choose to be. And maybe this s group just isn’t for me. I know not everyone wants to be open about their illness but I do think that those of us who have accepted it and don’t really have a chip on their shoulder should get out there and reach out to those who don’t have an understanding of mental illness. I don’t carry stigma about my mental illness – that’s right – I’VE GOT A MENTAL ILLNESS! <sorry, that was me being a bit loud>
Ugh! I hate feeling this way – I feel judged and I’m offended, I feel the need to justify my position and I shouldn’t have to do that. On the other hand, why do I care? I don’t have to see this person and frankly, I thought they carried a rather large chip on their shoulders and I didn’t think they were very nice, inclusive or welcoming.
Hey, I don’t like them either!
So I say, there is plenty of room in the world for the “person first” people and the Bipolar Chicks of the universe – there are more of us then previously suspected.
In response to a recent Healthy Place newsletter story titled, “Are you your psychological disorder”, I say YES – I am.
I am Bipolar, just as I am a redhead, I am Irish and Native American, I am diabetic. None of these descriptive phrases cause me shame or bring stigma into my life. I recognize that this in not true for everyone and I do agree that people don’t refer to themselves as, “cancer” or “heart disease”. However, many do state that they are, “diabetic, lactose intolerant, overweight”. Stating that, “I am bipolar” is empowering to me. The phrase gives me ownership of a chronic condition (unlike my red hair which is showing way too much gray!). For me it shows that I have accepted my illness, which allows me to control it better. Saying, “I have bipolar disorder” has a victim mentality to me and I am no victim. I speak freely and honestly about my disorder and saying, “I’m bipolar” -which I say with pride- works for me.
This is not a condemnation on those who state, “I have bipolar disorder”. This is a very personal statement that some people can’t say at all. The phrase is a matter of individual preference and however you choose to state your relationship to your disorder is your choice.
My uncle is dying. Early last summer we found out that cancer had once again infiltrated our family. I called him when I heard the news, he was surprised – I hadn’t spoken to him over the phone in over 10 years – I had seen him in that time. He told me his diagnosis and he remained positive but I already knew what stage 3b lung cancer meant and I knew in my heart that he would not survive the onslaught he was about to go through. I wasn’t trying to be negative – it was just something that I knew; I did not share that news with anyone but my husband.
My uncle’s impending battle arrived on the heels of my mother’s 12 month battle to keep her partner and my grandmother and grandfather alive or at least comfortable. Joe, mom’s partner of 22 years passes in January 2009; my grandfather passed the following May. My grandmother, a tough old broad, is hanging in – though I can’t imagine what it must be like to watch her youngest slowly precede her in death. I have stayed mostly out of the fray of emotions during my uncle’s illness. I live too far away to “run up” to visit and several surgeries of my own have kept me never straying too far from my bed.
A prolonged illness and imminent death is not easy for most people. Unfortunately, for me it is also a trigger for depression, so I stay as removed from it as possible – especially when cancer is involved. My step-father died after losing his battle with lymphoma. My relationship with him is the stuff of many more posts – suffice it to say that his death laid the path to my eventual diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
Since that time, I have lost others – all the while maintaining my distance. Honestly, the closest I’ve been to death was 19 months ago when my beloved dog, Fox, had to be helped on his way to the otherside – he had bone and lung cancer. I sobbed, my husband sobbed, I sobbed harder – that pain was pure and uncomplicated by years of a less than perfect relationship. When Fox died, with my hands on his face and his eyes locked on mine, my heart stopped beating for a while as my pain and sadness flowed freely.
When a family member dies it’s never uncomplicated and that’s the part that sets off my triggers. In my head there is some weird struggle over who is more hurt by the loss – it’s embarrassing to even admit. Because I knew my uncle would not survive his illness, I tried to be there instead for my cousins, my mom and my grandmother. I send him cards to let him know that I’m thinking of him but I don’t call – I don’t want to be in the way. I pray that he crosses over quickly each time I’m given a report of his terrible pain. I search for things to say as I listen to my mother cry over the phone. I discuss travel arrangements for the funeral that is to come and I send facebook messages of love to family and friends – all the while keeping my distance.
My mother bridged the distance today with on brief comment and now I can’t sleep as I try to reel in the complicated years of relationships that revolve around my mother. She called me to tell of her weekend with my sister at my uncle’s house in Connecticut. She told of his physical pain, his wife’s physical and emotional pain and the sheer exhaustion of his oldest son who has taken leave to help out. I asked her if she had told her brother that it was okay to go – she said she had and started to cry. And then I asked her if she understood why I was not having the hard time that she was having – stupid, door opening question.
She said she knew that he and I weren’t that close. I reminded her that as the eldest niece, I’d actually known and loved him 15 years longer than his own kids.
Well, she knew that I had been angry with him. Yes, when I was in my late teens he admonished my mother (his big sister) for letting her kids be out of control- so; yes, I had been angry with him almost 30 years ago because he’d hurt her feelings. Oh, yeah there was that comment he made when he and I were both going through a divorce and he eluded to the fact that I was not a good mother – just like his soon to be ex-wife (and my favorite aunt) – that had been 16 years ago.
Mom went on to say a few other things and we finally just said goodbye.
What I wanted to remind her was that my beloved Uncle Bob is only 17 years older than me – hardly old enough to be my parent. That during the first year of my life, she and I lived with my grandparents while my uncle who was a senior in high school. I wanted to say that he is the only family member that I resemble, that he and Aunt Pat made me their first child’s godmother, that they were my sponsors at Confirmation and that I was the first of my generation to love him and that losing him will hurt me in ways that no one else will understand.
Of course as I write this I realize that my brain is twisting my thoughts, creating anger where there is only sorrow and a distinct need to not feel it. My Uncle Bob’s death will touch many people including four generations of our family. With any luck my twisty brain will stay home and only my heart will show up to comfort and be comforted when his time has come to pass.
I’ve been waiting for “Someday” – But I wait no more because TODAY is my “Someday” and it’s time to get started!
I’ve ignored blogging lately. It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about blogging, but I’ve been so busy with surgery, recovery and other family and business stuff that blogging has become an ongoing, terse conversation between my writer voice and my business voice. In the background the 5 year old me dances alone the creative corner of my mind waiting for the grown up me to show up. So the conversation in my head continues as my dance of indecision becomes a whirling dervish of ideas without actions. It sort of reminds me of my dog chasing her tail; round and round she goes, never catching up, frustrated until she just gives up.
I spend a lot of time THINKING about what to post each day. Random ideas and conversations swirl in my brain, begging for my attention – still I don’t write. I busy myself with reading other peoples blogs while ignoring mine. It’s hard for me to even understand my stand offishness because I love blogging – it is one of my favorite creative outlets.
Then as if hit in the head with my Fairy Godmother’s wand (of course, I have a Fairy Godmother) – I realized!
This is why I’ve become a Life Coach – I am not the only one stuck dancing in my head.
The fact is, the reason I haven’t been dipping into my creative mojo is because it simply isn’t my priority right now. I want it to be. I’ve asked myself, “Why am I keeping all this information and these witty comments to myself?” I’m a Life Coach, these are the questions I should be posing to my clients but instead my coach is asking me what I’m afraid of.
“What if I blog out all I have to say? What will I put in my book?”
My coach, Bonnie, looks at me from across the room one eyebrow raised, “Really, you think you could blog away everything you know?”
“Of course not but…”
“Oy with the buts! Take a good look at your actions. You’re simply not doing it. You’ve made other things a priority and left out your favorite activity. Back to writing, Cinderella – it’s what you do.”
She’s right and I know it, so once AgAiN I am promising myself that I will write a pithy blog at least 3 times a week. I’ve got lots to say – especially now that I’m a Coach.
So, I respectfully request the honor of your presence as we board the bus to Bipolarland ~ pack a lunch, this could be a long ride.
Happy New Year! May 2010 be even better than 2009.
I am once again stepping onto the path towards the last locked door. I will travel through the maze of my mental illness, pushing beyond the boundaries of my bipolar disorder and defying the depths of my depression; you are welcome to accompany me if you wish (rafts and life preservers will be furnished upon request). I had hoped to delve into this journey today, January 1, 2010 but I didn’t…or maybe I did and just didn’t realize it. I want to share my experiences not just as a diary of daily doings but as a witness to the functioning and non-functioning parts of me with the hopes that some of my solutions for my own life will be of some service or bring some light into someone else’s life. It’s later than I had hoped to start (10:32 pm – well into my medicated sleep pattern) but I didn’t want to miss starting on the first, so here I am. As for my diary of daily doings…see below:
I spent the day with my husband and that was nice though by the end of the day he was not feeling well…should I take that personally???
I did not speak to anyone on the phone today, which I’m okay with. I wished a few Happy New Year wishes to a few loved ones but otherwise didn’t go out of my way. The way has been blocked since Christmas when a large gathering at my house was both enjoyed and endured until my very nerve endings pulsated in over stimulation. I’ve needed sleep and silence but have not been afforded much of either. No one’s fault except my own; I have not asked for the quiet that I long for, thus I have not received it. Perhaps tomorrow.
This evenings promise to me: To find purposeful silence tomorrow.
Lesson still needing to be learned and put into action: Ask for what I want (so much harder than it seems).
How is it that my aloneness can turn a regular day into a cold, murky place where it rains with no wind and I can’t put a coherent thought together? I’m uncomfortable in my own skin so much so that I had to talk myself into the shower today. I’m a water person so when I don’t want to shower it’s an issue. I recognize this, so I jumped in quickly thus assuring myself that it was not really an issue. Uh huh.
My below the surface, well-hidden stress has my face broken out like a chocoholic fifteen-year old. I’ve been here before – 30 years ago – breaking out wasn’t pleasant the first time and much less so in my 40’s. I’ve been eating crap lately – a difficult and painful task after gastric bypass. Seems all I want to eat is French fries. That’s some healthy stuff there. (Think I’ll go turn on the oven)
My dreams have been really vivid lately, an additional sign of lurking issues. The dreams make no sense but seem very real. I sleep a lot lately; also not a good sign but a fertile ground for those vivid dreams. I’ve told my husband that a wave was heading for the shore; not much he can do but pay attention and hope I don’t drown or pull us both under. Unfortunately, he’s away right now and my daughter’s at school or work so there is no one around to know that I have to shove myself out the front door to get to the life boat.
But where to go once I’m out of the house? I want to go shopping but that’s a slippery slope. I’ve been decorating for Christmas and that keeps me busy but isn’t keeping me happy – a strange and unusual experience. I love this time of year and it rarely brings on depression, if anything I tend to get manic with all of the hustle and bustle. Not this year, sadness is swirling through my bloodstream, splashing on the shores of my soul and dampening my holiday spirit. The worst part; I don’t know why. I don’t always know why but it’s usually not so random. I don’t do random well. I’m on a need to know basis with my episodes and right now, I need to know. But no one’s talking; my brain is providing no clues or maybe I’m just not listening.
The oven just beeped – French fries are ready. Gotta go.
Eradicating Shame, Blame and Toxic Niceness: What am I talking about?
Shame is what we feel when we think something inside of us is inherently wrong.
Eradicating Shame is done by learning that it’s OK to be who we are…illness and all.
Blame is finding fault with…ourselves, our parents, our illness, heck everything and everyone.
Eradicating Blame is done by taking responsibility for our lives through knowledge and understanding of ourselves and our illness. It’s also about forgiving.
Toxic Niceness is the chronic urge to please or placate others avoiding conflict at all costs.
Eradicating the Toxic Niceness of our Bipolar selves requires learning how to say no, asking for help when it’s needed and taking care of ourselves and our illness.
Eradicating the Toxic Niceness of those who do not have Bipolar Disorder is done through talking about our illness thus educating the public at large and helping to destroy the stigma attached to all mental illness.
I get sick, sometimes a lot during a single year. I go to the doctor – eventually. Usually, I’m so sick I can barely stand up but when it comes to a sore throat I waste no time – I call the doctor immediately. Over reactive? Hypochondriac? Sometimes yes, but also chronic tonsillitis sufferer. In fact,doctors have been telling me for years that they were going to take my tonsils out if I got sick one more time that year – I never did, until this June.
When I woke up with the beginnings of a scratchy throat several days before a scheduled trip, I did what I have done for years; I got a flash light and checked out my tonsils. Red? Check. Bumpy? Check. White spots? Not yet. Call the Doctor? Check. This might seem a bit early for the doc, but I wasn’t taking any chances . I know that ignoring a sore throat can bring on some very nasty days of antibiotics and feeling crappy. So, I’ve learned to be proactive in getting treatment before I get too sick.
To the doctor I went. He agreed that something seemed to be brewing and due to my history of tonsillitis he hooked me up with a mild antibiotic. Now I have to mention here that I cannot take pills, I had gastric bypass in 2008 which left me thinner but also suffering from malabsorption. What that means is because my stomach is so small and some of my intestines have been removed most pills have no time to be absorbed into my system; therefore, I have to take liquid meds. Children’s Motrin-here I come. With meds in hand I went about the business of getting a great tan during my two week trip to the beaches of South Carolina, New Jersey, Maryland and Virginia. I took my meds and enjoyed myself though my sore throat never really went away. As the infection seeped deeper into my blood stream I found myself desperate for a daily nap. Thank goodness that naps are a given when spending your day on the beach or at the pool…all that sun and water.
By the time I returned home I was well into the habit of taking naps and sucking down anything that would deal with the throat pain – for at least a little while. I called the doctor again and was put on a new antibiotic, within days I was sicker, now spending entire days curled up in bed, desperate for relief. A new antibiotic was ordered as were blood tests, pain killers and an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat Doc just to get a better idea of what was going on.
I met with the ENT and after a thorough exam he proclaimed that it was time for the tonsils to finally go. I wasn’t surprised but I was a bit nervous as I’d heard that a tonsillectomy is especially painful for adults. I did consider the fact that I’d had several major surgeries; gastric bypass, a cervical discectomy (part of my neck was replaced with a cadaver bone and titanium plate) as well as a burst gallbladder; surely I could manage the removal of a couple of little tonsils. Uh huh, well my hopes were in the right place.
The first issue became the date of the surgery; I was going to have to wait almost three weeks before he could take them out. This might not have been such a big problem but the infection had rendered me exhausted. I spent most of my time in bed and when I did venture out of the house I returned diminished and in need of sleep. I began making meals between the hours of 7am and noon just so everyone else would have something to eat for dinner. This plan allowed me to take afternoon naps, wake up in time to eat and go right back to bed.
Initially, the whole sleeping away the day thing felt indulgent and relaxing but eventually it began to take on the characteristics of the sleep of the depressed. I recognized this fact pretty quickly and in the mornings when I felt the best I would try to work out, nothing too heavy but since it’s a fact that working out can stave off depression, that’s what I intended to do. Unfortunately, working out became too much within a couple of days – back to bed I went.
As the pain grew worse, my sleeping became more erratic – another bad sign for the Bipolar Chick. I became irritable as sleep deprivation took over. I started staying in bed just to spare everyone my wildly inappropriate wrath.
The eighteen days until surgery felt like months but the day finally arrived. When I woke up I was groggy and my throat hurt but the meds and anesthesia were still in effect so I was eating popsicles and moving around so that I could go home. I was doing great that first day- an illusion created by the lingering anesthesia. I kept up with my pain medications and for the first time in weeks, I spent the day hanging out with my family in our living room. The doctor had suggested that I might want to spend the first couple of nights sleeping upright, our couch has recliners so there I stayed expecting a deep sleep. It was not to be. I couldn’t get comfortable and the pain was beginning to be very uncomfortable. And then there was the swallowing. I had no idea how often I needed to swallow just to swallow…Oh Good God…this was horrible.
I couldn’t sleep for more than a couple hours at a time and when I woke up my throat would be so dry and painful that most of the time I could simply gurgle out, “ow” while JC poured my pain meds. Even though the meds liquid, taking them felt like swallowing knives. I would let them sort of just slide down my throat hoping to not have to help it get down. It hurt like hell but the meds did kick in pretty quickly allowing me to relax until I fell asleep again. My husband slept in the guest room for over a week, partially because he snores and didn’t want to keep me awake and partially because I wasn’t really sleeping and I didn’t want to keep him awake. It was not fun.
As anyone who has had a tonsillectomy knows this is one of those recoveries that actually feels worse before it gets better. I was not prepared for that. I had done so well the first couple of days despite the sleep issue that when day three arrived and I wanted to jump off a bridge to ease the pain, I was caught a bit off guard. The ENT’s nurse called and spoke with my husband. She told him yes, in fact, the pain would get worse for about a week and then start the upward battle towards feeling better. Had anyone warned me about this? I don’t think so! And thus the depression slowly began to wrap it’s icing fingers around my brain.
I was in constant pain and getting no more than a few hours of sleep at a time – it’s a recipe for disaster. Even worse, I started to forget to take my regular meds – antidepressant and mood stabilizer. My husband didn’t want to wake me to give them to me and I was too out of it to remember. (sigh). I was slipping into the nether world. I still couldn’t speak. I didn’t get out of bed and was always trying to sleep between pain meds. This seemed like the natural course of recovery and it was – but it couldn’t be for me.
I was being worn down as thoughts of suicide began murmuring empty assurances of pain relief. My therapists have told me for years that I am very self-aware so I knew what to do when this started – call my therapist, hell call anyone. Uh oh, I can’t talk!!! Now what? I didn’t have a plan for this, it had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to speak clearly or without pain. I literally suffered in silence…never good.
While the depression clawed in for a long stay, I stopped taking my Bipolar medications. Further down the rabbit hole. I had worked out a plan with my husband to have him help me remember my meds but he felt bad waking me up when I slept so little so he would also forget. Just an aside here; he was trying to work from home while I was recuping and I’m sure work got the best of him on most days. Once we realized I wasn’t taking the meds we got back on track. Of course the depression that had set in refused to go quite so easily because I was still stuck in bed all day and if nothing else, that’s just boring -also never good. By day seven, I asked JC (my husband) to take me to the grocery store. I looked like hell but it was wonderful to get out of the house. We walked around – slowly, picked up easy to swallow, soft foods (yuk) and headed home and back to my bed.
Aside from the lack of sleep issue, eating was miserable. As I mentioned, I had gastric bypass almost a year and a half before the tonsillectomy; I no longer ate ice cream very often and not without some pain. Now all I was able to only eat was soft, cold food…ice cream, popsicles, jello and the like. Yes, there are sugar free versions of all of these items – that was not the problem, the lack of protein was the problem. I was stir crazy for a steak but I could barely chew, so meat was out of the question.
Food issues are one of my triggers where my Bipolar Disorder is concerned so I struggled to make peace with what I could and couldn’t eat but depression snuggled in tightly under the covers with me. As I was able to wait longer periods between pain meds and began sleeping for longer amounts of time the shroud of depression began to lift only to make room for the cabin fever that was taking over.
I needed desperately to get out of bed for more than a few minutes. I wanted to take care of myself, get what I needed when I needed it so that is what I started to do. And as lots of people do, I over exerted myself…but God it felt good. I would go outside to get the mail or take out the trash…mmmmm…sunlight. I started doing laundry again and picking up around the house. On post surgery day eleven, I had my first foray into the outdoors for more than just a few minutes – of course this was to walk around the neighborhood frantically searching for my dog, Sam, who had managed to get out while no one was watching.
I spent about an hour walking the streets, yelling (as best I could) for Sam to come home. It was many tears and several hours before we found him and I was once again beaten into the earth in pain. Off to bed, I went. On day twelve, JC had a friend coming over for football and a cookout. I had no part in the adventure but wanted to help out – hey, I was feeling better. So, help I did. I was excited to know that I could eat real food by this point and took part in some of the snacks. I also enjoyed a glass or two of wine, which promptly went to my head and sent me…where? To bed, again. I did get some sleep and felt better when I woke up – one nice part about malabsorption, alcohol doesn’t stay with you long.
On day thirteen, I awoke with a headache and dizziness…hung over? From two glasses of wine? I guess, maybe. I suffered through the day with a miserable headache and the inability to stand up without wanting to fall over. I felt like crap. As the chills crept in I checked my temperature and found that I was running a fever. My body began to ache all over and sleep was near impossible. Day fourteen proved even worse. The ear pain that the ENT had told me about had set in, the dizziness and headache were unbearable and the body aches continued to get worse. I called the doctor and after a brief conference he determined that I was dehydrated with low electrolytes. A diet of lots of fluids, especially Gator Aid, and bananas was in order. I sucked down as much as I could stand and by the next day I did feel better.
Within a few days I was ready for a trip to the store with my daughter. I jumped into her car and let her drive me to Kohl’s and the grocery store – whooo hooo. The weather was beautiful and I was excited to be out with the windows down and the radio blasting. I bought lots of food that I still wasn’t able to eat but hey, wishful thinking. I even bought a new handbag which just made me happy. The next day was spent recovering from that little outing – but one day at a time. One more day and I found myself home alone for the next four days as both my husband and daughter went out of town. Feeling much better, I hopped in my car and went for a drive…this is when the mania began to rear it’s little over spending head. I got a manicure, had a sudden desire to return to my red hair (so I colored it), then I wanted a hair cut – so I went. I even treated myself to a couple of new books and lunch at my favorite salad place. I stopped at Target and did a little more shopping – cute skirt! On and on it went until I returned home and collapsed amidst my purchases, new nails and hair. Ahhhh…sweet hypomania.
I repeated the overspending adventure the next day with a massage, lunch, a visit to my life coach and take-out for dinner. I could feel the adrenaline rush as the wind whipped through the open car windows while the music pounded. I felt better and I deserved it! The next day I was back in bed, so wiped out that I couldn’t keep my eyes open to watch tv. The headache and body pain returned as if to tell me – not so fast. I have stayed close to home since and take naps when I need them. I recognize the depression and hypomania as being triggered from the chronic pain, sleep deprivation and the sheer excitement of finally getting out of the house. It sucks when this happens but I was not surprised by the mood swings, they would have made sense for anyone without Bipolar Disorder. But I do have Bipolar Disorder which makes me more susceptible to the extreme version of these feelings. Here is where self-awareness and education becomes so important for anyone with mental illness. No matter what the chronic pain is from it has the potential to drop kick you into an episode. Honestly, I hadn’t been as prepared as I’should have been.
What would I have done differently? Talked more with the doctors about the medications, the level of pain involved and I would have helped my ENT, who is not an expert with Bipolar Disorder, understand the unique problems facing someone in my situation. I would have worked out a plan with my husband to make sure I took my regular medications on time. I would have ventured out of bed more often, even just for a few minutes just to ward off some of the cabin fever. Woulda, Coulda, Shoula…Live and Learn.
So take care and stay healthy and make a game plan just in case you find yourself in my shoes.
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